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Credits
KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT
Premro Smith
Komponist:in
Dewayne Martin
Komponist:in
Jason Boyd
Komponist:in
Lyrics
Okay
Comin' from the top of my dome when I'm droppin' my
Own type of style, and ain't nobody stoppin' my
Rise to the very top, hit 'em up wit' all I got
Superstar, no, I'm not, green weed, black Glock
Everybody want a piece, dirty like a pair 'a cleats
Niggas run their mouth a lot like bitches and parakeets
(Whoa) how you want it pimpin'? (Whoa) I'm so cold wit' it
(Whoa) make all the boys wanna do it just because I did it
I'm like a legend or some kind of prophecy
Sent here to set you free, dress, player, follow me
Into another world deep inside your own soul
This shit here way bigger than tattoos and cornrows
This not 'bout makin' dough, not 'bout no fakin' yo
Not 'bout who's rich 'o po', not 'bout who niggas know
This here 'bout you and me, this here 'bout poetry
This here 'bout who we be, if you in here with me
Keep your ears wide open
This is all real, no jokin'
Throw your motherfuckin' hands up in the air
If you feel me, throw your hands up in the air
Better keep your ears open
This is all real, no boastin'
Throw your hands up in the motherfuckin' air
If you feel me, throw your hands up in the air
The motherfuckin' air
Nigga, you don't know me, why you niggas wanna beef?
All in my grill like you the paparazzi
Boy, I was fulla game way before this rap thang
Real 'fore the money came, that's why I will never change
Me, ain't nobody like, even though they try to be
Niggas think they are, but they ain't fuckin' with me lyrically
(Yo) I was born wit' it, din't nobody teach it to me
Over hot beat, tell you 'bout what the streets did to me
(Yo) chose me to be a prophet and lead my people
Murder non-believers with lyrics that are lethal
I hit 'em heavy with it, yo, I stay ready wit' it
Come try to test me wit' it, regret you ever did it
Call who pimpin'? I got my own back
You got them baby paper? I got them grown stacks
But this ain't 'bout no bread, not 'bout what niggas said
Not 'bout what hoes believe, if you in here with me
Keep your ears wide open
This is all real no jokin'
Throw your motherfuckin' hands up in the air
If you feel me, throw your hands up in the air
Better keep your ears open
This is all real, no boastin'
Throw your hands up in the motherfuckin' air
If you feel me, throw your hands up in the air
The motherfuckin' air
Yeah, I gotta come again, just to let you know the deal
8 Ways to company, beats come from Du Real (yeah)
We're them niggas should not nobody be fuckin' with
Slab riders Chopper city had you bitches doubled quick
This ain't 'bout who rap the best, this ain't 'bout who got the most
This is not no gangsta rap, this ain't 'bout no pimps and hoes
This here ain't no country shit, ain't no way to label this
Memphis where I come from, Orange Mound veteran
What I represent, whoever live in poverty
Hard working niggas that try to hustle honestly
Man, I represent who lookin' good and feelin' nice
Niggas on that drank 'n 'dro, fresh clothes, full of ice
(Yeah) we gon' keep this slummin' comin' with the dirtiest
(Yeah) if you from the gutter then I know you heard of this
This ain't 'bout where you from, this ain't 'bout where you be
This here 'bout feelin' free, if you in here with me
Keep your ears wide open
This is all real no jokin'
Throw your motherfuckin' hands up in the air
If you feel me, throw your hands up in the air
Better keep your ears open
This is all real, no boastin'
Throw your hands up in the motherfuckin' air
If you feel me, throw your hands up in the air
The motherfuckin' air
Go 'head and put 'em up
Put your hands where I can see 'em
Put your hands where I can see 'em
Go 'head and put 'em up
Put your hands where I can see 'em
Put your hands where I can see 'em
Yeah, 8 Ways, Du Realla
Cold Lab
Slab two is goin' down, baby
This your boy Du Martin
Stop playing
Writer(s): Jason Boyd, Primro Smith, Dewayne Martin
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